Grayson turned off the music.“How are you, Gen?”He could picture her in the window of their Parisian apartment, gazing out on a frigid late afternoon.He was always conscious that, time-zone-wise, Parisians were six hours ahead of New Yorkers, that they’d already lived much of the day and probably felt snobby about it.They saw the future.
“It is not me you should be asking about,” Genevieve said.
Grayson hated it when she did this, when she spoke in a code that he was supposed to decipher.He hadn’t seen her in months, not since they’d finally decided to end their marriage once and for all.Everything would be finalized soon.He couldn’t wait to sign his name on the dotted line and get out of this.
“It’s your daughter you should be thinking about,” Genevieve said when he remained quiet.“Camille is worse than ever, I’m afraid.I worry she took the divorce very badly.”
Grayson rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers.Camille was his one and only daughter, a twenty-six-year-old ex-ballet dancer who’d decided to throw their family’s money into a life of Parisian luxury.His heart cracked at the edges, imagining her somewhere, alone, realizing that money wasn’t everything, that she couldn’t buy her way to happiness.Many, many people before her had tried.
He’d tried to instill in her the idea that money was empty, that it was better to pursue a beautiful life than a ritzy one.But she’d been busy in her pursuit of ballet.She’d been enamored with her mother.And Genevieve (quite obviously) had already begun to hate Grayson by then.
“You know she won’t talk to me,” Grayson said softly.“I’ve tried calling her.”
“She is too young to answer the phone,” Genevieve said.“You know this generation.They don’t talk like we talked when we were younger.They are addicted to their phones, but they will not speak on them.”When she was upset, Genevieve’s French accent grew more intense.Grayson expected her to switch over to French any minute now.He hadn’t spoken it since he’d left Paris, so he knew he’d struggle to keep up.
“I don’t know why I’m calling you anyway,” Genevieve continued.“I know you are in New York with your new, silly save-the-world company.I know you cannot get on an airplane.Your followers wouldn’t like it.”
Grayson was surprised that Genevieve knew anything about Grayson’s newly founded company.This anti-plastic, save-the-ocean initiative he hoped would make up for his family’s long-standing environmental faults.He hadn’t imagined that Genevieve was ever watching him that closely.
“You cannot ruin your reputation by getting on an airplane,” Genevieve went on, accusing him.“Which is why you won’t come to Paris to help me with Camille.”
Grayson’s throat tightened with anger.“I never said I wouldn’t fly.”
“Then you are a hypocrite!”
Grayson groaned and rubbed his left eye with his free hand.Already talking to Genevieve felt a lot like their previous marital arguments.He was never in the right, no matter how he agreed with her, no matter how he tried to fit what he did to what she needed.
“Family takes precedence,” he said quietly.“If Camille’s struggling, I want to be there for her.And for you.”
Genevieve was quiet on the other end.Maybe she was surprised that he’d agreed with her so readily.Perhaps she was searching for something else to fight with him about.
The phone call triggered a memory of a long-ago phone call, an admission, a request for him to return to Paris.But Grayson didn’t remind Genevieve of any of that.Genevieve didn’t like to dwell on the past.She often told him that only fools upheld their memories.She’d always found his nostalgia for various times of his past—and the music he loved within those times—to be mildly disgusting.“A waste of time.”
“Don’t bother to make an exception for us!”Genevieve cried.“You left us.Stay where you are.”
Grayson bent over and pressed his forehead to the chill of the kitchen table.He considered reminding her that she’d been the one to leave their marriage.She’d been the one who had an affair and had the disgruntled attitude and the anger that he “didn’t live in a way that she could respect.”Grayson had wanted to start the clean-water project years ago, but he’d held back, respecting Genevieve’s wishes that he carry on his father’s business and continue to make money hand over fist.But how much money did one person really need?How much did his ex-wife and daughter need?It felt ridiculous.
Before he could come up with a response, Genevieve hung up, leaving Grayson alone in his kitchen, his heart throbbing.Sometimes he couldn’t believe he’d ever fallen for her.Other times, he couldn’t believe they’d really broken up.
* * *
That afternoon, Grayson rode his bike through the bone-chilling streets to meet his clean-water initiative company to discuss their upcoming strategy and commercial.His legs pumped, and his muscles felt alive and strong.At the intersection, hovering on his bike, waiting for the light to change, he looked through car windows at drivers, huddled against their heaters for warmth.He remembered himself like that in the past: locked away in cars, running from the vehicle to the indoors and back again, always afraid of the cold.Now, his body was his main mode of transportation.If he could help it, he avoided cars.And planes.But—if Genevieve was right—he would have to find a way to get over to Paris sooner rather than later.A big boat would take weeks he didn’t have, not if Camille was really in trouble.
Genevieve was right about one thing.If his environmentally friendly followers caught wind of his flight to Paris, they would retract from his mission.They wouldn’t take him seriously.
Grayson locked his bike in front of the high-rise building where the offices for Water Works were located on the forty-fourth floor.Entering the lobby, the doorman Frank greeted him by name.Grayson had known Frank since his father had managed the offices for their family business here, all the way back in the eighties.Incredibly, Grayson was forty-nine, almost fifty.It probably meant that Frank was in his seventies, that he’d blasted past retirement age and kept going and going.
When Grayson reached his desk upstairs, his secretary, Dina, entered the office and read his afternoon schedule from her clipboard.Before she finished, Grayson interrupted her.“I’m sorry.But I need to know more about Frank from downstairs.”
Dina blinked at him, confused.“Frank?”
“The doorman,” Grayson said.
“I figured you meant that.But what about him?”Dina furrowed her brow.
“I want to know how much longer he has till he can retire,” Grayson said, pulling at his tie before removing it entirely.He wasn’t sure why he continued to uphold his father’s notions about what you were supposed to wear to work.Water Works was supposed to undo all of that, to work toward a better and less “professional” future.
Grayson elaborated.“I want to give him a Christmas bonus.A big one.Enough that he can retire, if he wants to.”
